


equal in weight

by beautifuldisgrace



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Purple Hyacinth - Ephemerys & Sophism (Webcomic)
Genre: Bad Poetry, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, F/M, Greek Myths, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, atalanta retelling, feminist icon!!!, heavy handed symbolism, my attempt at becoming a greek bard, no beta we die like the men who thought they could outrace atalanta, plant symbolism if you squint, so many parallels that euclid would weep tears of joy, take a shot every time there's a comma splice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:01:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27015445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifuldisgrace/pseuds/beautifuldisgrace
Summary: in which a girl raised by bears crosses paths with a boy with hair like ashes, and a boy with eyes like the mediterranean.or: a retelling of the greek myth of atalanta.[for day 4 of lauki week: greek mythology]
Relationships: Dylan Rosenthal & Lauren Sinclair, Lauren Sinclair/Kieran White
Comments: 10
Kudos: 18





	equal in weight

**Author's Note:**

> this mostly follows the myth of atalanta, but a few changes have been made for storytelling purposes.
> 
> no bears nor boars were harmed in the making of this fic.

To a less trained ear, the clanging of metal upon metal could seem like the ringing of a bell. In another world, at another time, it could be music--a charming symphony of bronze and steel. But it isn’t, and the Siege of Allendale leaves no eager audience clamoring for an encore, no survivors in its wake.

Except one.

To a less trained nose, the bundle of fabric on the ground might have been just that--an inconsequential lump of blankets. But to the mother bear, it reeks of something even more potent than the stink of the carcasses strewn around it. 

It reeks of life.

More specifically, young life. The scent of milk still lingers on the body. And when the bear nudges the bundle with her large nose, her soft brown eyes meet piercing gold, matched only by the rays of Helios. 

Perhaps it is those eyes, set in a face so small yet so full of anguish, that compel her to take the child with her. 

\---

Their days are peaceful. She does her best to teach the human child what she knows: what berries to pick, what fish to catch, what animals make for the softest pelts. 

The child learns quickly. Her hair is as red as a fox’s, and she is no less cunning. But she still has the heart of a bear. As the human child nestles in the soft fur of her belly, she wonders how long they’ll have. They don’t have forever, but they at least have each other. And that’s enough.

\---

The hunters find them. 

[It was only a matter of time.]

“Behind that tree! Ready? Aim! And shoot!”

Out of nowhere, an onset of arrows flies at them like a swarm of angry bees. But unlike bees, they seek to kill.

The girl cries out as the bear collapses on her front paws. She isn’t sure where the blood is coming from, but there’s _so much_ of it. It pools in viscous puddles: rivers of ruby staining her hands. Wooden shafts decorate the bear’s side, sticking out at impossible angles like gruesome tree branches. The bear’s breathing becomes shallow, every inhale a struggle, every weakening pump of her heart leading her closer to Thanatos. The girl prays to every god she can think of, sinking to her knees. But none of them answer. 

There’s nothing she can do. So she screams. And screams. And screams.

She is barely twelve when she loses everything, for the second time.

\---

She does not want to go with the hunters. 

They drag her away roughly from the bear’s corpse, baffled by the sight of a little girl wrapped in dirty furs yelling and thrashing like her life depended on it. They shake their heads and bring her back to their village.

None of them quite know what to do about her. They try to change her. They give her linens to wear, teach her the language of humans. They give her a name: Lauren. They try to make her _civil._

[It doesn’t work.]

Their first breakthrough comes one sunny afternoon, when they catch her spying on the training grounds with wide eyes.

“Silly girl, what are you doing here?” a woman asks. “Come along now, Lauren, we’ll be teaching you how to weave.”

Lauren doesn’t budge. Instead, she points to the far end of the field, where a group of teenage boys gather around a cluster of straw targets, bows in hand.

“I want to learn to shoot,” she says. The look in her eyes makes it obvious that, no, there will be no arguing with her.

Because what they didn’t realize is that you can take the girl out of the wild, but you can never take the wild out of the girl.

\---

By the time Lauren is fourteen, she can shoot better than half the men. By fifteen, all of them. When her knife slashes through armor with soundless strength, they see an echo of the goddess Artemis in her. The people still grumble, of course, that this _savage girl_ can beat their most seasoned warriors, but they’ll never admit she can absolutely kick their asses into the dirt. So they settle for the highest compliment they can think of: they call her Atalanta. _Equal in weight_. Equal to a man.

But at seventeen, she decides she’s had enough of mankind. She misses the forest. She misses freedom. She misses a life without judgement. So she packs up her bow and her knives, and welcomes the woods with open arms.

And for a while, all is uneventful. The calm before the storm.

\---

Lauren can’t say she’s surprised when she finds him sitting casually at the entrance of the cave she’s made her home. After all, she’s done nothing to hide it--the makeshift stone table and chairs, the mismatched collection of bone daggers and tools--it all looks so very unnatural. So very _human_.

He stumbles to his feet when he sees her, putting his hands in the air. Her bow is nocked, her arrow pointed straight at his heart.

“Explain yourself,” she says, “or I will leave you here as carrion for the vultures.”

The intruder steps forward tentatively so that the sunlight casts a faint shine on his ashy hair. “My name is Dylan. My father is the king of Rosenthal. He upset the goddess Artemis by forgetting to honor her with a proper sacrifice, and in her wrath, she sent a giant boar to terrorize the kingdom.”

She arches an eyebrow. “And what makes you think I care about the woes of your people?”

“Are you not the legendary huntress Atalanta?”

“That I am.”

“I’m organizing a hunt for the boar’s head. The best trappers, marksmen, and spear-throwers from all of Ardhalis are invited. I came to find you to personally invite you.”

“And what’s in it for me?”

“Riches, gold--” Dylan starts.

“I have no use for money. I have everything I could ever want here,” she interjects.

“What about eternal glory? They say that whoever takes down the beast, whoever draws first blood, must be truly blessed by the goddess.”

She mulls it over.

“Fine. I will go with you to slay the boar, but then I will be going right back to the forest. I’ve had enough of human folly to last me a lifetime.”

\---

“Do you want any help?”

“No.”

“Aren't you cold?”

“No.”

“Do you want to join us at the feast?”

“No.”

“How did you learn to shoot so well?”

“Practice.”

“What was it like living in the forest?”

“Enjoyable.”

“What’s your favorite flower?”

“...Daisies.”

“Let me show you something.”

“What is it?”

“A daisy crown--here, try it on.”  
  


“How does it look?”

“Beautiful.”

\---

She hates that she’s enjoying it. She hates that she’s actually _having fun_.

Running through the dappled light, with the familiar weight of her quiver on her shoulder and Dylan at her side, she feels freer than she has in a long time.

“On your left, Lauren!”

She whips her head to the side, and sure enough, she can make out the dark shadow of something _huge_. Adrenaline courses through her veins as the lumbering footfalls of the beast come closer and closer.

All around her, hunters take their positions, their eyes on the small opening in the dense clearing. Lauren draws her bowstring back, her fingers by the corner of her mouth. The tough sinews dig into her knuckle creases and leave purplish lines, but she feels no pain. She stands still, waiting for the boar to break through the tree line. She has the patience of a marble statue. 

The boar, on the other hand, does not. A guttural screech comes from… behind them?

_If the boar was behind us, then what was-_

“THERE’S ANOTHER ONE!” someone yells, and they realize, all too late, that the boar has found itself a mate.

A colossal mass of brown bristles and hard angles bursts from the undergrowth, ramming through their lines with the force of a phalanx of foot soldiers. Something large flies over Lauren’s right shoulder, crashing into the trunk of a thick cypress tree with a dull _thunk_. To her shock, she realizes it’s a body, thrown into the air by the yellowing tusks of the sow. The ivory pierces straight through the leather hide armor, leaving an open scarlet gash in the hunter’s stomach.

She takes a deep breath, steeling herself. Squinting her left eye, she focuses on the gaping maw of the sow, then shifts her aim a little higher. 

_It’s just you and me_ , she thinks as the sow charges toward her, fire in its eyes. She judges the distance. Twenty meters between them, then fifteen.

A trickle of sweat makes its way down the side of her face.

Ten.

She lets her arrow fly.

It hits true. The sow swerves to the side, blood gushing from the arrow embedded in its eye socket. It lets out a pathetic noise, one that twists her heart in a vise, but there’s no time to grieve.

“Lauren, watch out!”

Lauren turns around, and comes face to face with the Rosenthalian Boar. She can practically feel the anger radiating off of it. After all, she just killed its mate.

“Take that, you wretched beast!”

Dylan throws his javelin at the head of the boar, lodging itself in the meaty area of its neck. It tosses its great head back, the wooden shaft snapping cleanly in half as if it were nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

The boar paws the ground viciously, fixing its beady glare on her. Lauren reaches into her quiver for an arrow to nock, but doesn’t draw it back just yet. Instead, she backs away, stepping sideways in a semicircle as if it were a dance. But the boar decides that it would rather wrestle than tango, so it lunges forward, hooves reaching out to trample her.

Lauren stumbles back, her foot catching on a tree root. She falls to her knees. On edge now, she draws back her bow. The boar moves forward slowly, as if savoring her death. As it approaches, she calls out a prayer to Artemis.

In a matter of a few seconds, something extraordinary happens. The boar leaps at her again, but here’s the funny thing about rage: it blinds better than a total eclipse of the sun. The boar overshoots the distance. Lauren, with her eyes like a bird of prey’s, sees this. She hits the ground, rolling to a kneel as she aims for the soft underside of the boar.

A tortured squeal tells her she has not missed.

\---

“A toast to the hero who brought down the Rosenthalian Boar! A toast to the mighty huntress Atalanta!”

Dylan raises his crystal chalice to her. She’s seated at the end of the grand table, the guest of honor at the king’s celebratory feast. But the mood in the dining hall is anything but cheerful. Lauren can feel the glares of the men, who feel oh so aggrieved that a _woman_ took down the boar. Rolling her eyes, she takes a sip of wine.

“And now for the spoils!” Dylan says. He gestures to a servant to bring forward a large oak chest. Together, they lift the severed head of the great boar into the air, its fur still glossy with red. “As tradition dictates, the head of the beast will go to the drawer of first blood.” He offers her the head, and she takes it in her arms proudly. 

A few seats down, a man leaps to his feet, kicking his chair back. His dark hair is disheveled, the wrinkles on his face only deepened by the ugly mask of disgust he wears. Bounding forward, he rips the boar’s head from her hands.

“Uncle Hermann! What is the meaning of this?” Dylan asks, tugging the head back.

“Enough with your jokes, Dylan! Do you really expect us to believe a _woman_ would be awarded the boar’s head?” he spits.

“She deserved it, fair and square. She drew first blood, so what are you all complaining about?”

Hermann pokes his finger at Dylan’s chest. “Have you gone soft, boy? Did you really think a few spoils would make her love you? Did you think she would agree to be your meek little wife? She is a _savage woman_ , and you cannot trust her!”

All around them, hunters jeer and call out their approval for Hermann’s words. Lauren steps away from the table, sensing that the argument was like a lit fuse. Her eyes widen as Dylan draws his sword, advancing on his uncle, his shoulders shaking with fury. Turning away, she knows what happens next.

The tall doors slam open as the queen bursts into the room, her cheeks livid.

“Dylan, what have you done?”

“I-”

“I thought we raised you better than that! Family comes before everything--how could you be so selfish?” She sinks to the ground, cradling the still body of her brother. “O’ great Zeus, king of the gods and bringer of justice, hear me out! This child, this _fool_ , is no longer my son, and may I never have to look upon his face again!”

“Ma!” Dylan cries out, reaching for her shoulder. But as he twists her to face him, they hear a terrible rumbling from the sky. Like a tidal wave, dark shadows roll over the blue expanse over the open ceiling, smothering the sunlight in a haze of smoke. The clouds part for a single lightning bolt that strikes Dylan like he did his uncle. 

As they watch, the white-haired prince of Rosenthal turns into ashes.

**Author's Note:**

> hellooooo thank you for reading this incoherent mess of a fic that i thought i would be able to finish in one sitting. this fic is split into two parts; part 1: the hunt, and part 2: the chase which will be coming soon. i promise. i know this is for lauki week and no lauki has happened yet, but we'll get there soon. you can probably guess what will be happening in the next part if you've read the myth. ;)
> 
> i did an embarrassing amount of research for this fic. i was literally hitting my fencing swords together to see if they sounded like bells and google will probably recommend boar anatomy to me for the next month, but hey, that's showbiz, babey!!
> 
> more notes:  
> omg i was fangirling so hard while writing this. i stan atalanta with my whole heart: a queen from head to toe!! according to the percy jackson version of the myth, atalanta was known for her golden hair. and what's lauren known for? that's right--her pEnSiVe golden eyes. >:))))
> 
> did i really make dylan turn to ash again? yeah <3
> 
> here's the who's who of the story if you're interested--  
> atalanta: lauren  
> meleager: dylan  
> hippomenes: kieran  
> iasus: tristan  
> aphrodite: bella


End file.
